Marvel x Dc: New magic

The private jet hummed steadily as it soared through the clouds, cutting across the sky like a blade. Leonardo Giovanna sat comfortably in a leather seat, his fingers idly tapping against the armrest. Across from him, Don Salvatore Giovanna swirled a glass of whiskey, his piercing gaze locked onto his protégé.

"You understand why we're doing this, yes?" Salvatore asked, his voice smooth yet firm.

Leonardo, only eleven years old but already possessing a mind as sharp as a dagger, nodded. "We're ensuring control. If we let others handle distribution, we become reliant. That makes us weak."

Salvatore smirked, pleased. "Good. Business is about control, mio nipote. The moment you let someone else hold the reins, you've already lost."

Leonardo took a slow breath, feeling the weight of his mentor's words. The trip to Mexico wasn't just about learning how the family handled drugs—it was about understanding the bigger picture, the power struggles, and the consequences of weakness.

After a gruelling eleven-hour flight, the plane touched down in America. Their first stop: Hell's Kitchen, New York. The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving the city bathed in flickering streetlights and neon glows.

As they stepped out of the limousine, a group of sharply dressed men awaited them. At the center stood a man larger than life—Wilson Fisk, better known as the Kingpin. A mountain of muscle wrapped in a pristine white suit, his presence was suffocating.

"Salvatore," Fisk greeted with a nod, his deep voice carrying authority. "It's been too long."

Salvatore clasped Fisk's hand in a firm shake. "Too long, indeed, my friend. Let's talk business."

They entered an exclusive restaurant, one Fisk had closed for their meeting. Leonardo followed closely, observing everything—the way Fisk's men positioned themselves, the hushed whispers of servers, the tension in the air. He was young, but he knew how to read a room.

Over plates of fine steak and glasses of aged wine (or in Leonardo's case, imported Italian soda), the discussion turned to business.

"The Russians have joined our circle," Fisk announced, cutting into his steak with precision. "That brings strength, but also competition."

Salvatore took a sip of wine. "And what of Scarface?"

Fisk's jaw tensed slightly. "A new player, but a dangerous one. Cuban-born, ruthless, and unpredictable. Miami is his playground, but he's looking to expand."

Leonardo spoke up. "Then we cut him off before he spreads. If he controls Miami, he controls a key pipeline. We have to make sure he either plays by our rules—or doesn't play at all."

Fisk's eyes flickered with interest. "Smart boy. I can see why you keep him close, Salvatore."

The conversation continued late into the night, strategies forming, alliances strengthening. By the time they left, Leonardo knew one thing for sure—this world was full of sharks, and only the strongest survived.

The next morning, Salvatore took Leonardo to a high-end hairstylist. "You need an image," he said. "A man is not just his mind, but how he presents himself."

Leonardo watched as his naturally dark hair was transformed into a sleek, golden blond. He examined his reflection, tilting his head slightly. The new look gave him an air of regality, something untouchable.

Next came the tailor. A man named Vincent, an artist with fabric, took one look at Leonardo and immediately got to work.

"A black suit jacket," Vincent mused. "Grey dress vest. White button-down. Grey slacks. And for the shoes… Clarks Tilden. Classic, refined."

An hour later, Leonardo emerged looking like he belonged in a room filled with kings and criminals alike. Salvatore nodded in approval. "Now you look the part."

As Salvatore stayed behind to get fitted himself, Leonardo took the opportunity to explore Manhattan. The city buzzed with energy, a chaotic symphony of life. Eventually, he stumbled upon a strange shop—Arcana Cabana. Something about it called to him.

He entered, the scent of old books and incense filling his nose. As he wandered through, he noticed another boy around his age looking at the peculiar artifacts.

Leonardo hid behind a shelf, watching curiously. The boy seemed nervous, almost hesitant, as he reached for an ornate urn.

A deep voice broke the silence. "The second emperor of the Han dynasty locked his least favorite wife in that urn for ten years to the day. They say you open it up, the same thing will happen to you."

The shopkeeper, an older man with intense eyes, stared at the boy. Leonardo smirked—this was getting interesting.

As the boy hesitated, Leonardo took a step forward, making his presence known. "You believe in curses?" he asked, his voice carrying amusement.

The boy turned, startled, while the shopkeeper simply watched. "I don't know," the boy admitted. "Maybe."

Leonardo chuckled, picking up a small, intricate dagger from a display case. "Superstition can be powerful. But sometimes, all it takes is a little push to find out the truth."

Before anyone could react, the shop suddenly erupted into chaos. A flash of light burst from the urn, and from within emerged a man in a dark coat and bowler hat. The air crackled with an unearthly energy, books flew off the shelves, and strange symbols lit up across the floor.

The man, eyes gleaming with power, looked around before his gaze landed on Leonardo. With surprising speed, he tossed a long, black cane toward him.

"Carry my legacy," he said before vanishing into oblivion.

Leonardo caught the cane, feeling its weight in his hands. Something about it felt… right. He looked at the boy, who seemed just as bewildered as he was.

Deciding that staying too long would bring too many questions, Leonardo quickly slipped out of the shop and made his way back to Salvatore, his mind racing.

As he entered the tailor shop, Salvatore raised an eyebrow. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Leonardo smirked, adjusting his cufflinks. "Something like that."

Salvatore chuckled, straightening his tie. "Welcome to the real world, Leonardo."

Little did they know, this was only the beginning